The Something's So Familiar
by saradelovely
Summary: Nothing Left to Say But Goodbye
1. Forever and Almost Always

**Author's Note: **So, this story is set in the future. At eighteen, Rachel and Noah broke up after she stormed away when they got into a fight. They haven't seen each other for seven years. Rachel and Noah are both 25, they're both with different people. So, enjoy. I'd love to hear your reviews. For those of you who have inquired, yes, you have read this story before. I wrote it once, and never finished it, and deleted it one day. This time, I did finish it, and this is part I of III. (The song is Kate Voegele: Forever and Almost Always)

_so the story goes on down the less traveled road_  
_it's a variation on the one I was told_  
_and although it's not the same_  
_it's awfully close, yeah_

It started with a crowded NYC platform, where he saw her standing across from him, hands folded across her chest, slightly swaying sideways. She never could stand still. He used to love that about her, the way she was in constant movement, the grace of her ballerina's build. He used to love her fluid motions, the way she could bend herself so easily.

She's changed, no longer wearing her infamous knee socks and her short skirts like she did those high school years. Her wardrobe choices have matured. A multicolored green scarf is tied loosely around her neck, skinny jeans tucked into her heels. He remembers those shoes after all these years. She hated them when he bought them for her as a gift. She doesn't wear heels, she whimpered. He lets out a bitter laugh. The relationship ended seven years ago, but the shoes have lasted above and beyond. A navy leather jacket wraps around her petite body, lightly exposing a striped gray and orange shirt. He doesn't remember her liking orange, much less ever wanting to wear the color.

She doesn't notice him staring, distracted by the music in white iPod headphones. He wonders what she's listening to, if it's still Broadway and show tunes like before. Maybe she's listening to the mix CD he made her during their senior year, the one before everything that happened following. He sees her train coming, and decides to take a chance. He runs up the stairs, running to her platform, appearing to her like a ghost, out of breath and pale.

"Hi, Rachel." She looks different. So much has changed in the past seven years, and it shows in the worry lines around her face. She's only twenty five, he wonders why the worry lines are there. He wants to ask. She's still beautiful, even after all this time.

She looks stunned. She never expected to see him again, and certainly not on a subway platform. He hates trains. She didn't get a lot of sleep last night, not her usual eight. Sleeping felt different with her fiancée out of town. Rachel looks at Noah, and hopes she dreamt his face.

"Hello, Noah."

"Let's get coffee. Catch up for old times sake." It comes across more as an order than a polite request.

She looks like she'd rather do anything, anything, else, but she slowly nods. She misses her train, and later on, when everything happens, she'll wonder if she should have caught it after all.

_in an ordinary fairy tale land  
there's a promise of a perfect happy end  
and i imagine having just sort of that  
it's better than nothing_

Rachel follows him out of the station, and she observes him quietly out of the corner of her eye. He hasn't changed much. He's still wonderful on the eyes, and his physique doesn't appear to have changed much, even underneath the layers of the suit. Noah still walks in quick strides, almost as if they're running together again. They make it down to the nearest Starbucks, all this time walking in silence, and they marvel at how they found each other again.

She orders, she always orders the same thing: Venti black iced tea with two pumps classic and extra sweetened. She hasn't changed much in the time that elapsed. Even ordering with her feels as though she's begun a walk into her past. Noah doesn't go fancy on his order, he takes his usual black coffee and they settle into the comfortable chairs by the window, the ones furthest from the doors and closest to the windows.

Rachel takes a sip of her drink, and they sit in stormy silence, both of them remembering what their silences used to sound like. They were comfortable, and well-worn. They spent Sunday mornings covered in them, underneath the blankets, not saying a word. Neither of them had to talk to fill the gaps and now it feels awkward, and sad. More sad than awkward. Noah speaks first, himself startled by the sound of his own voice.

"So, this is a little foreign to me. I didn't expect to run into you on the subway platform, of all places. Must be my lucky day." He makes a weak smile, and she finds herself lightly smiling back, not enough to mean it. She wonders when she can leave to go home again. She wants to crawl underneath her covers, and pretend this exchange never occurred.

"You were never fond of the trains, convinced they were speeding so fast so they could crash into the wall, and we could all die." She thinks back to the first time they took the train together. He gripped her hand tightly, his knuckles turning white. When they got above ground again, he nearly kissed the concrete but settled on kissing her instead, muttering that taxis are now the default form of transportation. He doesn't care to talk about trains, he wants to hear of her life. He wants to know if they can have back the forever they talked about.

"How have you been? Last I heard through the grapevine, you graduated law school with honors. Congratulations. I always figured you'd up under the bright lights of Broadway instead."

"Thanks, Noah. It still feels weird, not performing. But I loved my law school experience, I love how challenging and rewarding it is. I made the right choice, after all. Everyone was a little worried I wouldn't have. But I mean, I'm sure you'd agree, being a lawyer yourself. It's nice to hear you made partner, that you're doing well for yourself. You look well, you know. " She's rambling again, like she used to. He misses hearing her talk.

"It has it's benefits." Noah thinks back to his apartment on the Upper East side, and the millions he's accumulating in that empty penthouse. They fall back into the silence, unsure of what else to say.

"I still remember that day." She says softly, her voice hovering above a whisper. "It was beautiful, the sun was shining like it hadn't shined all week. We woke up together, showered together, went to the park, kissed our last kiss." Rachel doesn't know what compels her to bring up their last day. She's tried to forget that part of her life for so long but she can't forget something, someone, she knows like the back of her hand.

"Do you regret leaving?" He's always wondered, and he's never understood. Seven years and he's never known why.

"I don't know. No. We were different, then. We were changing, and growing apart. When I saw you talking to her, you looked so happy, you hadn't smiled like that for weeks. I don't know. We were too young, and everything was going too fast. It was always a hundred miles an hour with us, and it was getting tiring. It was better this way. We would have hated each other in the end." He stays silent at her speech, convinced she's rehearsed it in her sleep in preparation for this moment.

"I don't believe that. I think you were just searching for an excuse, and you finally found one that night. You were getting bored. You saw your reason to bolt, and you did. You left."

She has the decency to look out the window instead of replying. She's tired of fighting, she escaped him before so the arguments could cease. He decides it's not the best time to pour salt on old wounds, and changes the subject.

"Are you happy?" He doesn't know why he asks that, actually. It's such a personal thing to talk about. He wants to tell her he hasn't been happy since she left. He wants to hear she hasn't been happy, either.

"I have everything I've dreamed of. This is what I've wanted from my life for so long." She doesn't know why she said that. Some nights she lays and stares at the stars she tacked up on the ceiling, wondering if this is _it_.

"Right."

"Oh. You're engaged."

He notices the ring when she brings her cup to her lips again, and he should have expected it. He didn't mean to say those words out loud, until they came by themselves. He wishes he could take them back, roll them back underneath his tongue.

She nods. "To Finn." She whispers lightly. She shouldn't have said Finn. She should have just said yes, left it at that. She doesn't want to talk about her engagement.

"Have you set a date?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"It's too soon."

"But you're engaged. Shouldn't you want to set a date?"

"I don't want to talk about this."

"Okay. He looks away uncomfortably, staring out the window, thinking back to the ring he bought her, the one still hidden in an old shoe box. He would have proposed that weekend, they would have been married by now if she didn't leave. He always wanted to marry her, even on their worst days. He doesn't like the ring Finn gave her, it's simplistic and boring, neither of which she is.

"How is Finn doing now?" It's been years since they've spoken, probably not since the summer after they graduated. They were looking for reasons to grow apart ever since Rachel chose Noah over Finn in high school. Not that he cares how Finn is doing. He's trying to fill the void by talking, talking about anything.

"He's fine. He deals with mortgages over at HSBC. He's away on a business trip for the weekend, so I've been prowling around on my own. The city feels its best around the holiday time." Her smile curves around her lips as she thinks of the holiday season. She remembers her first year with Noah around the holiday time, the mistletoe at Rockefeller Center, the ice skating at midnight.

"Do you want to come over?" The question comes out abruptly, surprising him and jolting her out of her thoughts. He doesn't know why he asks her back to his apartment. He doesn't know why she nods before the words have finished leaving the tip of his tongue. But he doesn't question it.

She nods before she understands the question.

_and i'll be fine, just love me when you can_

She doesn't know why she comes back with him to his apartment.

She comes back with him, standing in the foyer, glancing at what he's done with the place. The night has become hazy, the darkness illuminating through his windows.

(She begins to wonder if this is a gift, this darkness; a shroud of secrecy to cover what she's about to do)

She doesn't know why she chooses that moment to kiss him when he walks up next to her but the lack of reason doesn't make her stop.

He kisses back, deepening the kiss until she has to pull back.

"You taste the same." He read an article once that women adjust their kissing style to their current partners. He hopes this means Rachel hasn't kissed anyone lately.

(He'd rather not think of the alternative)

Obviously, that's untrue but that's what he'd rather believe. He wants to go back to their high school years when she was only kissing him.

"Is that a bad thing?" She looks concerned, and she raises an eyebrow.

"You taste like magic."

She doesn't say anything, but she doesn't have to. He knows what she wants to say.

His mouth locates her collar bone, his tongue tracing the outline.

"Does he touch you like this?" There's more to this question that he wants to ask. Do you miss me, miss my breath on your shoulder blades and my hands across your back? He wants to ask but he doesn't, he doesn't want to know anything. Is he wonderful, is he everything you wanted, everything you bargained for? Are you happy with him, is he satisfying, do you stay up and want to talk to Finn about feelings and life, do you ask him what you asked me? Do your fingers trace his rib cage, do your fingertips brush his back, do you settle into him, do you touch Finn like you're touching me?

He doesn't say anything of these things, he bites his tongue until he tastes the faint blood underneath, the metallic bitterness covering the skin.

She runs her hands down his stomach, and doesn't answer.

She bites her lip and his mouth turns into a smirk. "I thought so."

His hand rests at the edge of her hip, circling over bone.

"Are you thinking of Finn right now?"

"No." Her lie doesn't match her eyes, she avoids eye contact to avoid the truth. She is thinking of Finn, and she hopes he never knows she's been here.

She plants her mouth downward with kisses, and Noah loses thought shortly after. He doesn't say anything when she's done, and forgets how to speak when she comes back for seconds.

Later in the night, he finds her in the dark, and she curls to fit his mold. He doesn't say anything when their hands intertwine, and her engagement ring cuts into his palm. It'll press in for the entire night, and it'll be the proof he needs that _this_ happened.

_and i'll wait patiently, i'll wake up every day just hoping you still care_

_and in the corner of my mind,_

_i know too well that surely even i deserve the best_

_but instead of leaving, i just put the issue to bed and out of my head._

She sneaks out in the morning, leaving before it becomes real.

(After she leaves, she wonders she always finds herself in the position of leaving him)

She has a life to return to, a life that doesn't include idealistic fantasies about her high school sweetheart. She returns to the bright lights of her potential and the coldness of her apartment, the bottles of wine she has in her lower cabinet.

She pours herself a glass of red, and sits on her couch, leaning against the cushions. Her engagement ring sparkles from her sky light roof, and she looks at it, wondering why she played it safe. She loves Finn, quietly and calmly, and it is enough for them both. He doesn't question why she never gives more of herself, and she never questions why she keeps herself hidden. Nobody wants to hear secrets that are better left unspoken. They've been engaged for several months now, taking the wedding process slow. They're not in a rush, they're content with their lives. Eventually, they'll tie the knot and have children, have a quiet suburban life. She'll have her picket fence, like she imagined. She imagined marriage when she was younger, a marriage to someone else.

She pours the remains into the sink, and she sits to wait for Finn.

_oh, and just when i believe you've changed for good_

_well, you go and prove me wrong just like i knew you would._

Noah's not surprised when Rachel isn't there when he wakes. He expected it, a quiet disappearance in the night.

He sits in the kitchen as the morning light streams through his window, glimmering against his cabinets, and he drinks a Scotch, and waits for Quinn to walk through the door. They've formed a relationship neither of them can comprehend, a relationship where they live together but they spend the majority of their time with other people.

"It's only noon and you're drinking. I thought you stopped that."

He ignores her, like he has so many times before. He doesn't ask where she was last night. Asking her opens him to her questions, and he wants to avoid those.

"She was here, wasn't she?" He wonders how she knows. She always knows things, somehow. He hates it when she knows things without him telling her.

"Yeah. How did you know?"

"The air smells like her. Open a window. Plus, you only drink Scotch after her. I hope you didn't use our bed." She eyes him warily, a look of disgust seeping through her eyes.

"It's not our bed if we don't share it."

She rolls her eyes at him. "Whatever, N. Whatever." She grabs ice cream out of the freezer, and sits across from him at the kitchen table. She offers him a bite and isn't surprised when he pushes her hand away.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Her heart hurts for him. She hates Rachel for coming back.

He shakes his head, and picks up his glass, walks back to his home office. "See you later, Q."

She watches him go, leaning back in her chair, she finishes the ice cream, eventually throwing the remains out in the trash. She's gotten used to sharing him with other women all of these years but never, never with Rachel. She wonders what he's gotten himself into, and she hopes last night was the last night Rachel was here.

_when i've run out of second chances, you give me that look,  
and you're off the hook because you're mine, forever and almost always.  
_


	2. Through the Touch of Our Fingertips

This is how the disintegration of two relationships begins.

Finn comes back from his trip away, walking in to see Rachel sitting on their couch with a glazed expression, and he knows without her saying a word. After six years together, he knows her better than she thinks, despite the walls she tries to hide behind. He remembers her break-up with Noah, she told him the first night she drank too much, he remembers how it hit her like a tidal wave, and how she nearly drowned. Most days, he looks at her and feels she's still on a raft out in the ocean, intent on never swimming back to shore. She never talks about Noah, not even in the aftermath, but he's still sure she's never recovered from what transpired with Noah. Finn looks at her sometimes, and he catches waves of sadness in her eyes, and she shakes her head, and it's gone but he knows it's there, he knows.

(He knows more than what she ever tells him because she never tells him _anything)_

He sits down next to her, kissing the side of her forehead, and hee tells her he's glad to be home, moving her legs over on top of his, massaging her feet, and she gives him a weak smile. He smiles back an encouraging smile, a warm enough smile that would make her confess but she looks away again, and they're both trapped by their current thoughts. He sits there, counting her breaths, memorizing them as if he'll never be part of them again.

He waits for her to admit to the affair, he'll sit and wait as long as necessary for her to admit she slept with Noah recently. He thinks about how Noah may have found her again, and he wonders if she's leaving him for Noah. She did the first time she had to choose, back in high school, when they were kids. He drifted away from Noah, then. It wasn't about girls, it was about the girl, how Noah became manipulative and deceitful to get Rachel, how easily she fell for him. It hurt more than he showed, and when she re-entered his life on his nineteenth birthday, he decided to do all it took to get her to stay. And she stayed, she's stayed all this time. He wonders if she'll stay, and still be here in the morning.

(She's always had an amazing ability to leave)

He leans back into the sofa cushions, and waits for her to talk. She never tells him anything that night, just asks him how his trip was, and he can only shrug at the unimportance of it. He never asks about the marks on her shoulders, the sharp edges across her clavicle. He touches the creases of her skin, and wishes he could feel safe in knowing she's still _his_. He kisses the hollow of her collar bone, fingering the red welts left behind on her neck, trying to get a rise out of her, bring her guilty feelings to the surface, but she doesn't say anything. She kisses him back and that night, they have the best sex of their relationship. She feels different, he wonders if she's already adjusting her body back to Noah.

Finn goes to work the next day, hoping he imagined yesterday, and Rachel calls in sick when he's gone, making her way over to Noah's. She's been there once, and she remembers the way to his apartment as if she's been there so many times before. She wants to talk about what happened the previous night, how it was a mistake and she loves Finn, how guilty she felt when Finn was staring at her last night, as if he knew what she did. He always knows things, no matter how hard she keeps him at bay. When Noah opens the door, she forgets to speak and they spend the day in bed, it's not over anymore.

(The crumbling of her will can be heard in the distance, a sharp sound that she can feel bruise the cloudy sky)

They could break up with Finn and Quinn, they could. It doesn't have to be an affair they share, it could be a real life, a real future. There are moments, moments where he finds himself thinking that change may not be such a bad thing, it could be wonderful and good, and he _could _leave Quinn. The thing is, neither Rachel nor Noah want to break up with Finn and Quinn. Despite suggestions otherwise, Rachel likes being with Finn, and Noah knows nobody would put with him like Quinn does. Not even Rachel tolerates what Quinn tolerates. Underneath it all, there's something welcoming about staying with Quinn. She loves _him _after all. They haven't stayed together for six years to _not _love each other, they don't have a _five _year old together to split apart, and he doesn't know if he could do that; if he could have a broken home at the cost of staying with Rachel.

Noah doesn't want that kind of life for his girl, a beautiful girl with his eyes and Quinn's soft blonde curls, a little girl named Willow. Noah fought with Quinn on that; who names a child _Willow_?

(But she argued with him for _days_; doesn't he want a child that can bend and not break? That's all she wants for their baby, a child that is _strong_ enough, a child that can weather the storms and _still_ have hope for life. They say that mothers pour themselves into their children, and that's what Quinn does with Willow; she wants a girl who will be strong enough to push against the norm, to leave and not stomach the adultery.)

So, they stay with their respective partners waiting it out, waiting it out to see how the affair plays. It is easy enough to continue the lying and the sneaking around. There are solutions to this.

_we found house with a big yard_  
a_nd moved all of my things_  
a_nd most of your things in  
and honey, I was proud of it, honey, I was proud of you_

She doesn't come over his apartment anymore. He's trying to keep her a secret from Quinn. He sees the looks Quinn gives him, when she thinks he isn't looking. He loves Quinn; at one point, he even wanted to be with Quinn, but being with Rachel, it changes everything. So, he tries. He tries the best he can to keep Rachel a secret again. He's never been to her apartment with Finn, much less want to come over. It feels different, her and Finn share a bed. He and Quinn don't, not during the night anyway. He doesn't want to go to her apartment so he doesn't. He makes his excuses, and buys an apartment separate from the one he shares from Quinn, a life separate from his family, and gives Rachel a key. She doesn't want her name on the lease, she doesn't want to dig herself deeper into this, but she takes the key. Finn doesn't question about its appearance on her key ring, and she doesn't go into detail.

They go shopping for furniture, like any couple in love would. They decorate their new apartment together, painstakingly going over the details, giving close attention to everything. It's as if they're planning for their life together, for a future they will never share.

Nobody blinks an eye when Noah advocates hiring her as the new addition to the firm. Her reputation precedes her, and having a Jewish attorney is good advertising for their clients, amplifying diversity. Nobody discusses the affair but everybody knows, it's tabloid fodder on all the floors. They all know it's less about her professional resume and more about keeping one of the upper partners satisfied. She sleeps with him on her desk, her chair, her floor that night, and tells Finn her phone was on silent for his fifteen missed calls. The disbelief in his voice is almost enough to make her feel guilty, but she brushes it off. Her new office smells of sex for weeks. Nobody says anything.

"Quinn and I, we're getting married," he tells her one night, one night when they're getting settled into a routine of _this_. He doesn't bother telling her about Quinn and the arguments they have every night, arguments and words that lose all meaning. She forces his hand with the marriage, it has to be done or they have to cut apart the life they have together.

Rachel blinks, stuck in shock for a good portion of an hour. She never asks him to _not _get married. Was she supposed to? She assumed he wouldn't marry Quinn, just like she's been dragging her feet about marrying Finn. She thought there would still be a chance for a different ending.

_but you don't have the sense_

_no, you don't have the sense to tie your tangled tongue_

"Oh. Congratulations." She doesn't know what else to say that would be appropriate. What does the other woman normally say? Is she the other woman? When did this become what it is? He looks over at her, and shrugs. "It's what she wants, so I want to give it to her."

"You're not even together," she blurts out. He looks at her strangely, with raised eyebrows. "We've been living together for four years now, in a relationship for six, we have a _child _together." That is how the whole thing of marriage began with Quinn; she cornered him in the hallway and asked him if this is a future he wants for Willow, parents that are separated, if he wants her to grow as a child of two homes.

His hand is lightly skipping across her rib cage while he's talking about his other relationship, the _permanent _one, and her ribs hurt. His hands feel like they have razor blades attached to them, the way they easily cut across her bones. She wonders if his light movements have cracked them, she feels it's hard to breathe again.

_instead, you're slashing through the mud_

She opens and closes her mouth, still unsure of the appropriate response to the situation. She wants to point out he's been in a relationship for five, and cheating on her for one, and doesn't that mean anything, that invalidates a year of their relationship together. "You're not even engaged." As if that matters. She wishes she had a better vocabulary at the moment, something worth saying, something worth communicating. She doesn't remember where all her words went. He came back and he took them all.

(She doesn't know how to broach the subject of the child; if it was possible, if she was _sure,_ she would admit to herself Willow hates her. She barely even refers to Willow _as _Willow in her thoughts, often naming her with other terms. She remembers the first time she met her, she was nervous and a wreck; matters weren't helped when Willow said, _so you're who my mommy calls a whore_. Rachel doesn't say anything, she makes her excuses and leaves, angry at a _five_ year old of all the people to be angry at._ Fucking_ smartass, she thinks at that moment)

"Yeah, astute observation, Berry. I'll pick up a ring for her from the jewelers tomorrow. It happened suddenly, I didn't have time to prepare. Any suggestions?" She almost corrects him at his usage of her last name, until she realizes she's still Berry, not yet Hudson. Rachel stifles a laugh at the irony of the situation, Noah discussing engagement rings for his fiancée with his mistress, her worrying over last names, and shakes her head. "There's so many to choose from – I could go with you tomorrow to pick one out." He nods, and the subject closes. She doesn't know why she offered to come with him. This hurts enough as is. This wasn't supposed to hurt the way it does.

(She wonders why she didn't fight for more than this in the beginning)

She doesn't say anything when his fingers slip past her underwear, his subtle way of changing the subject and prioritizing what is at hand. There is tension and anger when his body finds his way to hers; she can't help but wonder about who's trying to hurt _who _here. She bites his neck to keep from screaming, drawing blood. It's winter. He wears a scarf to hide the bite marks. Come spring, the mark will be nothing but a faint outline, undetectable unless he stares in the mirror too closely.

He leaves her with his own tangible calling card; a bleeding lip colored with anger and desire, an intertwined hypocrisy. He kissed her in the midst of everything, his lip biting across hers, breaking skin. His teeth draw blood, she's caught up in the moment to realize the new taste in her mouth. She's left the most intimate parts of herself with him, there's nothing left to care about blood. His thumb will trace the cut after they're done, and that will be the most gentle touch the two will _ever_ share again. She brushes her teeth the next morning, and when the bristles _accidentally_ push against the cut, she can only watch in horror as the pool of blood increases at an alarming rate, a bright angry red taunting her with her actions.

When they pick out engagement rings, Noah buys the one that Rachel suggests, after trying it on her finger to make sure it fits. Rachel smiles, Quinn will have the engagement ring of her dreams, the one Rachel tried on first. She brings her hands to Noah's face, and he carelessly throws the ring in his jacket pocket, and they have sex in the car on the way to work, closing the blinds between the driver and them.

_i'd be a fool to ask for more,_

_oh, I'd be a fool_

He gets home, on one knee, and proposes to Quinn, mumbling about forever and fidelity, and she says yes, because she loves him, even if he doesn't love her back the same way. She doesn't ask him about the bite marks on his neck. She doesn't have to, she knows who they're from. It's almost as if Rachel is sending her an engagement present, tied together by marks of red instead of a ribbon. Here, you can have him but he was mine _first_. Quinn wonders if Rachel will stay in this marriage with them together, the fourth wheel in their life for three. This ring is her consolation prize. She'll be Noah's wife but Rachel, the other women, will have him whole.

The night of their wedding, the couple spends it apart. Quinn gets drunk in her suite with the best man, and Noah has sex with Rachel. After they're done, they face each other, and Rachel traces his ring finger silently, until he says I do. She smiles at him, and they end up re-doing his wedding vows, until he's married to her. This is their wedding night, the one they'll never have. Not anymore, not after this.

He kisses her in the shower, her body pressed against the steam of the glass door. There is a tangible routine that they have developed, the way his mouth trails down feather kisses across her stomach, breathing deeply to help remember this later. There's skin moving against skin, a vivid familiarity.

She kisses him in bed, laying on top of him, their bodies moving in the sheets. The sheets are red, ocular proof of their adultery.

"Do you love her?" Somewhere in the middle of the night, weeks later while he's a newlywed, she has to know. She should have asked before, before when it would have mattered, when she could have changed things.

"Yes. I don't know. No. Yes. It's different." Noah gets annoyed, she should have asked him this before he got married.

"How?"

"She's my wife."

"You act like I've forgotten. I haven't forgotten."

He turns around from her so he doesn't have to feel her pulling away. He stares at the moon light streaming through his curtains, and wishes for something.

Sometimes, Finn kisses her and she feels his goofy grin outlining his features, and she kisses him back harder to dull the guilty feeling. She loves him, she does. Finn brings coffee to Rachel at work one day, bumping into Noah in the hallway, and looking right past his former best friend who is now sleeping with his fiancée. She sees Finn walk into her office, and she's glad Noah was here earlier, and not now. She doesn't think Finn would be able to take it if he walked in on her with Noah, even just talking to him.

"Hey, baby. You looked a little tired this morning, figured you could use the pick me up." Finn sticks out a bag with her favorite coffee and her favorite breakfast food, and she bursts into a grateful smile, and kisses him flat on the mouth.

"I love you, you know." He nods, whispering three words back into the base of her neck. He slouches, leaning his forehead into her skin. He knows exactly how much she loves him, and he knows she loves him even more so for tolerating this betrayal with Noah. He doesn't wonder if she's had sex with Noah here, he wonders how many times its been. She walks behind Finn, and closes the door.

"You know, no one is here today. They're all away at some conference, one that thankfully, I didn't have to attend. You could feel free to hang out here with me, if you want. If you don't have to get back to work, baby." He figures now is a good time as any to christen the office, at least leave some kind of mark of his own here, and he pushes her against the desk, and he kisses her, forgetting for minutes what she's done here before. He only remembers the moments he's done this with her before, the moments when she was still just his. Finn's hands wander below her skirt, his mouth on her collar bone, when Noah bursts through the door, rambling about some paperwork.

"Dude, what the _fuck_? The door was closed." Rachel and Finn break apart, and Noah stares at her smudged lips, and swallows his vomit.

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry, man. I figured she was on the phone. I'll go and come back later."

Finn rolls his eyes as he puts his belt back on. "Yeah, right." He mumbles.

"Look, I said I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt."

Finn smirks. "Please, save it. You knew exactly what you were doing. It's not as if the two of you haven't closed this door before to do the same thing." He grabs his jacket, and slams the door, leaving Noah frozen in place and Rachel slowly making her way, sitting on her chair, head in hands.

Noah opens his mouth, and Rachel shakes her head. She swallows the bile that finds itself snaking up her throat, and she feels her skin prickle; she's cold and something inside her heart hurts. She closes her eyes, and hopes that when she opens them, it'll be a poor dream, not further evidence of the person she is becoming.

"Please go. Just go right now." She doesn't watch him go, she doesn't have to. She wonders when she became that woman, the one who cheats on her future to reclaim part of the past. Five minutes later, she leaves work for the day, not bothering to say good-bye to anyone, least of all, Noah. She has to find Finn.

_the love you had was good enough  
the path that we were stuck between_

_but so much stuff must go tonight_

Despite everything, despite the affair, the third person in this relationship, Finn wants a life with her. He wants a future with her, a future she's not going to have otherwise. She doesn't find him until she comes home, and he's lying in bed with the covers pulled over his head. That night, she rolls over and jabs him in the back until he turns back around to face her.

"Let's get married. I love you, you're everything. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. You are _who _I want." He looks at her with a strange expression. "I want to set a date." He still doesn't say anything, and she's getting mildly creeped out. She wills him to say something, anything to lessen the tension in the room. She's never prayed before, but she starts now, she starts now so Finn doesn't leave. He gets out of bed, and goes to the other room, returning with his desk calender.

"I've never asked you for anything in all our years together but I'm asking you now. Please, please give him up. I've been tolerating him for seven years now, for the six that you were missing him, and for the one you've been cheating on me with. If you can't give him up, then I can't marry you. Pick a date, any date you want. I will marry you on any date you want, anywhere you want. As long as you give him up. I don't want want to marry someone I have to share. I want you to be here." She holds the calender in her hands, flipping through the pages. She settles on April 4th, the first day she left Noah. She left him once, she can do it again. "Okay, April 4th." She whispers to Finn in the dark, she whispers the date of their new life, and his smile is illuminated in the moonlight. She jumps into his arms, and wonders how she got this lucky twice, warmed by Finn's forgiveness.

_Oh, good Lord, what have I done?_

She breaks her promise to Finn the next day, less than twelve hours after she settled on a wedding date. Noah's hands crawl up her shirt, and she closes her eyes, and her mouth finds his. She doesn't think of Finn once. Not until she has to. She's laying on the floor with Noah when she breaks the news. He doesn't react. He's a pragmatic at heart, realizing the odds are heavily stacked against him. He'll lose at this game, he'll lose the girl, without ever having a chance to win. He never thought she would get married, her and Finn kept dragging their feet. Eventually, they'd cave in and marry, but he didn't think that Rachel and Finn would marry this soon. Though, he never anticipated marrying Quinn, either. It just happened. He understands the selfishness of the situation, that he wants to keep a woman he can't have completely, anyway. They don't speak after that. They leave their situation alone, and she continues to plow on with her engagement to Finn. She's busy with planning her wedding, and he's busy trying to drown.

They pass each other like strangers in the hallway, avoiding the spots where they used to meet. She hires a cleaning crew to rid her office of him, of everything they shared before, and bills it to the firm. She bills the firm for the affair that's taken a hold of her life.

He digs out his wedding video with Quinn when he gets his invitation to Rachel's. Quinn looked beautiful that day, she's always looked so beautiful. They looked happy that night, right until they left each other to spend their wedding night somewhere else, and he hates what a good liar he's become, how many glasses of scotch it took to get him to be that happy with marrying her. Quinn comes home, and catches him watching it for the third time, a smile on his face.

She comes in to sit next to him, surprised he remembered. "You remembered," she softly says and he looks at her quizzically, and she sees the invitation on the floor, and realizes he's watching to pretend she's Rachel, to ignore the harsh reality of her upcoming wedding to Finn, not because he remembered their first anniversary. Something inside her heart breaks, the fragment collapsing through her ribs, settling in at the bottom of her stomach, and she smooths out her skirt, and she leaves.

_(_Noah never says, _don't marry him_, don't do _it_. She doesn't know why she expected him to say these words, _he _got married, didn't he?)

The wedding was perfect; Finn was handsome and Rachel was beautiful, and everything went accordingly. She walked down the aisle, walked down to him, grinning and smiling, and he was happy she was finally his, and the wedding night was beautiful. It was almost as if the past year hasn't happened. Almost. A singular happy night wasn't enough for Finn to forget all the other multiple nights she was never home, off working or off having sex with someone else. That's what Finn refers to Noah as now, someone else. He wonders if Rachel's really given up Noah.

(He doesn't believe she ever will)

Noah doesn't bother attending the wedding. The thought of seeing her walk down that aisle makes something in his stomach swoop down and curl. That night, he finishes off a bottle of Scotch and tries to think of anything but her wedding night. Rachel will want to spend the night with Finn, their first night together as man and wife. He imagines her with Finn, just a simple touch, and it's enough to open a second bottle.

He doesn't talk to Quinn, or anyone, that night. In fact, if you ask him later, he won't even remember if Quinn came home that night.

The affair continues long after Rachel marries Finn.

AN: The song is 'Everything Must Go' by Taking Back Sunday.


	3. Ashes of Dreams You Let Die

Quinn corners Rachel at the holiday Christmas party, away from the prying glances of their husband(s).

"Stay away from him. You're just the other woman."

"And you're just the wife." With that rebuttal, Rachel turns on her heel, her heels clicking against the hard floor.

They spend the night figuring out which one is worse.

Neither of them mention the brief sentences they exchanged to their respective partners.

Noah wonders why he didn't wait longer for her to come back before getting with Quinn. It's a lie, he thinks, the idea of parents staying together for their children. Children fend off their parent's energy, they can feel the tension palpable, heavy enough to be cut with a knife. He doesn't want Willow growing up carrying the sins of her parents, he wants more than a loveless marriage for her.

"Do you miss us?"

He asks her softly one night after the clock has turned, the calender year flipped. He turns around to look at her, his fingers tracing her back. It's not too late for them, he thinks. They could still do this, they could still be together; people have found themselves in their position before, they've fixed it and lived until old age together. They could fix this and they could write a new beginning, one where she doesn't leave.

"The old us is dead."

She wonders why she let this become what it is, an affair instead of a real life together but all the hours wondering wouldn't change this for what it is; their relationship isn't realistic, it isn't practical. It has always been about the ending but never a beginning. It was easy enough to leave him the first time around, it would be easy to do it again, wouldn't it?

She leaves afterwards, her words ricocheting across the walls around him.

He says the three words first; _I fucking love you_. He says it above a whisper, his mouth murmuring into the back of her bones. She's heard them before from him, long ago when they were still children, back when they thought they knew things, when they thought _i love you _means _forever_. He says these words but they don't mean anything anymore, they're reserved for _once upon a time _in the back of her mind. She doesn't reply right away, the words are suffocating her in her throat. His fingers trace the shoulder blades, a letter at a time. He writes them across, curving sideways to fit and she knows she'll never make it out of this love affair alive; his words on her skin are proof of that. He keeps saying those words and she's bursting at the seams to suffocate him with her pillow, _stop stop this doesn't mean anything_. She pretends to be asleep, but she forgets how to breathe with silence in the middle of the night, and the words escape her accidentally. He hears her, but doesn't say anything. The next day, they won't talk about it.

"You used to _fucking _talk, talk circles spinning across the floor all the time."

He sounds annoyed, his eyes searching hers. She is reading a case study for court, alternating between keeping her glasses on and biting them between her teeth.

"That was before." Before _everything_, when she had words for these types of things.  
Later, when she finishes, he'll watch her brush her teeth. When she finishes, they have sex on the bathroom sink, leaving an imprint in her back. He traces it with his fingers, memories can cut to the bone. Her chest feels heavy when she realizes she'll have to explain another inexplicable bruise to Finn.  
Finn doesn't say anything about it when he sees her with the mark the next day. He fingers the bruise, and pulls her close onto his lap when she starts to cry. He wants to know why, but he decides against it. He knows that it's less from the pain than marrying someone else.  
When she's done, he brushes the tears from her face, but he doesn't let go. She stays in his embrace, gathering strength and just when she thinks she's recovered, he tells her he wants a baby, emphasizing the his in his baby. She doesn't say anything. She isn't in a position to say no.

She doesn't know why she tells Noah what Finn wants, the words exchanged against another late night.

"Finn wants a baby."

"With you?"

"Who else?"

"I don't know. Anyone else. Someone else."

"We've been married for two years. It's the natural order of things."

"Was our affair in the natural order of things?"

"No. Nobody plans an affair."

"Do you want children with him?"

"Yes." She says, as if on instinct.

"No." She says, correcting herself.

"I don't know." She says, unable to choose.

"Oh."

She stays silent, lost in thought, his thumb is moving in circular patterns across her flat abdomen.

A baby. Living in her, conceived with Finn. He hasn't thought about having another child with Quinn. He wonders if Quinn would ever ask for another child, if she even wants another child.

"I once thought."

(_I once thought we'd have children together, we'd live a life of domestic bliss together. I thought we'd be healing together, wounds mending, growing together._)

"Don't say it. I know what you thought." She says sharply, cutting him off, the words wounding them both.

(_I thought we'd be limitless together but I was sadly mistaken_)

He fucks her like he knows her, his eyes boring into hers, her staring right back. His teeth scrape her neck, leaving welts. There's no tenderness in their movements, but he's angry at her revelation; he needs the anger to steady his thoughts, to cushion the blow of what will inevitably occur.

She doesn't remember if they used protection.

She isn't surprised when the next month comes, and she misses her period, and vomits at work, barely making it into the bathroom.

She goes to the doctor, who tells her she had a hysterical pregnancy, her body faking symptoms because she wants to be pregnant. She wonders why her body wants a baby. The doctor tells her not to worry. Her and Finn will have kids when they're ready, when it's time. Rachel blinks, and thanks her. She never says anything to Finn, and stays awake that night, unsure if she wants his children.

She comes home, reeking of someone else, and convinces Finn to have sex, start early on the baby. He kisses her stomach, his lips trailing the skin as if in prayer.  
That day she gets pregnant.

That day will be the last day their bodies will intertwine.

She hands in her resignation in the next day, her eyes tired from keeping up appearances, the strain this affair has taken on her marriage. She doesn't tell him, she can't imagine it doing more bad than good. Her heart is numb, the ventricles a valley of ashes and she has grief etched upon her skin. She's left him a piece of her soul, split apart to never come back. She misses him when he's gone but that's the mistake she's made, she's always had the misfortune of being in love with two boys.

_Pieces_. She's given them both pieces of her, tiny gifts without the wrapping. _Here_, _pick and choose_. She compares the two, the rise and fall of their chests but she doesn't dwell, she's made her choice and well, here she is.

She doesn't go far, they don't move and she hides in plain sight, her feet echoing the forgiving concrete of New York. She's learned that about the city, the city with its blinding lights and bustling people. It will love you, it will forgive you. She's surprised how strong the feeling is, how strong the desire for forgiveness.

He looks for her everywhere but she is in all the places he is not, and he finally gives in, she doesn't want to be found, and he goes home, nursing a Scotch.

When Quinn walks in, she isn't surprised to see him drinking.

"She left you, finally."

"Now we can move on with our lives."

He doesn't reply. He just pours himself another glass, grabbing the bottle, and goes into his home office. He thinks about Finn having a baby with Rachel and Rachel with her children. He throws the glass at the wall, and doesn't flinch when it breaks apart.

He starts taking the train again, hoping to run into her. He doesn't.

Two months later, she sits in the bath tub with her positive pregnancy stick, and wonders how to tell Finn. She's pregnant, alright. But that's the thing about sleeping with more than one partner. It's a coin toss for paternity.

She waits three days before telling Finn, considering her viable options; even going as far as to schedule an appointment to rectify the problem but she cancels before she has the nerve. She tells him when he's brushing his teeth, hostile because he's home late from work and the business is struggling. Her throat ache when the words escape, a wave of vomit carrying them to the surface. He's overjoyed and she feels sick; if she didn't know any better, she'd say it was the story of their marriage.

She feels guilty when he sits there holding her hair back, the strands falling through her fingers as she hovers above the porcelain. She vomits and vomits until there's nothing but water coming out, she takes a breath and she hopes she's thrown up the rest of her feelings with it as well. When she's washed her face and the churning in her stomach has settled, she'll inquire why, and he looks at her as it's obvious, _in sickness and in health_. She wonders what part of their vows infidelity falls under the umbrella of, perhaps for better for worse?

That night, she dreams of children with dark hair and green eyes; a family she'll never come to know. For months after that, she wakes up in panic and cold sweat. Her eyes fill with sadness as they dart around observing the darkness, and she writes fierce vows in her mind; she'll love this baby, she will she _will she will_. She cries solemn tears, water staining the pillow underneath her. She doesn't move a muscle, she's afraid to wake Finn.

She sits with her ice cream on her belly in the later months, shoving spoonfuls of strawberry into her mouth. She eats and eats to fill the hole in her heart, the one growing by the multiplies each day. Her heart burst at the seams when she left, a mountain of ashes residing in its place.

(_Look_, they'll say when they cut her open, a hospital bed in her dreams. _There's nothing inside, there's nothing for us to take_)

She wants the baby to be born happy and healthy, a beating heart strong enough to withstand life's winds. She wants this baby to be everything she isn't. She gets her wish when Emily is born, healthy and a strong set of lungs. Rachel let out a breath she doesn't remember holding and she places a hand to her heart, the beat drumming to life.

She's relieved when the baby starts to look like Finn. She doesn't know if he would recover from the birth of a child in their marriage that isn't his. He doesn't need to look at Emily to see ocular proof of an affair.

Noah and Rachel run into each other five years later, with their respective families. They make small talk, always a pleasure to see you, and then they leave before they can remember more of their past. There is no exchange of furtive glances, no secret smiles that once clasped them tightly, words of _later later later_.

She does the dishes that night, a simple act in her domestic life, and thinks back to their first night together, the first night when they first became involved again; their roles reversed. His mouth running a million miles per minute, inquiring about what tonight meant while she lay awake silently, a lack of coherent thoughts.

"We have tonight. Let that be enough for now."

You fight until you can't fight anymore, and then you pull back, and be fought for.

(Maybe that was the issue between them, it was easier to keep an affair going than to risk chances on a relationship. Neither of them were willing to fight hard enough for the chance to be together)

Regardless, it is too late for them. She should have realized this early on, early on before the relationship festered to what it would come to be.

They've never been able to find each other at the right time, it is difficult to assign blame for who that belongs to.

(In a different time, in a different place, in a different _life_, there would have been a column of different answers and they would have been able to be together)

For the briefest moment, drying her hands, she remembers how easily the words rolled off his tongue. He said it simply, and quietly that night, leaving her with the feeling they'll have their whole life to say things of meaning and importance. She smiles softly, _let that be enough_.

AN: And we're done. Yay! I think I'm going to go write something happy now. Wish me luck, I always have trouble writing happiness.


End file.
